


Here In The Rose-Tinted Warm

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: “This is stupid,” Jackson said as he hunched over to crawl into the elaborate blanket fort. “I’m going to have to get this suit dry-cleaned just to get the wrinkles out andyou’repaying for it.”Stiles waved him off, already sunk into a nest of pillows, his laptop propped up on half a dozen more in front of him and a bowl of ice cream in hand.“Stiles, if you spill that ice cream in here, I swear to god—”“You know, I bet you’d be less cranky if you came over here and let me kiss you hello.”





	Here In The Rose-Tinted Warm

**Author's Note:**

> my contribution to day 5 of Stackson Week, for the Established Relationship prompt!! have some domestic-type fluff and a couple of Jackson's numerous issues rearing their ugly heads, lol. it's okay tho, Stiles is on it ;D
> 
>  
> 
> _oh, ps, THIS IS MY 100TH FIC POSTED ON AO3, just btw i'm very excited about that akdjfghkasfdhjg_

Jackson got home from work to find that their linen closet had exploded all over the living room. Practically every inch of it had been taken over by blankets and sheets, stretched over the furniture and pulled up over the floor lamps and weighted down at the edges by books and knick knacks.

It was actually pretty impressive, as far as blanket forts went. But it was also _ridiculous._

“Stiles, what the hell did you do?” Jackson called out.

There was a scramble from inside the fort and then his boyfriend’s mop of messy hair poked out from between what Jackson thought might be his favorite armchair and the end of the couch.

“Hey!” Stiles said brightly. “Come on it, it’s warm and cozy.”

“Stiles,” Jackson said again, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door and letting his coat slide off his tense shoulders. “What is all this?”

But Stiles had already disappeared back inside. “What does it look like?” he said anyway, muffled through the layers of thick fabric.

“Like you being ridiculous,” Jackson said. “Again.”

“Will you just get in here? I’ve got netflix and snacks!”

Rubbing at his forehead, Jackson contemplated just ignoring him and going upstairs to take a nap like he’d been planning to do. He’d had a long and unpleasant day and he just wanted it to be over. But considering all _this,_ there was a good chance their bed had no fucking blankets on it at the moment. So, cursing everything and everyone—but especially his boyfriend whom, he had to remind himself, he loved dearly—Jackson toed out of his shoes and pulled his tie off to drape over the coat rack.

“This is stupid,” he said as he hunched over to crawl into the fort. “I’m going to have to get this suit dry-cleaned just to get the wrinkles out and _you’re_ paying for it.”

Stiles waved him off, already sunk into a nest of pillows, his laptop propped up on half a dozen more in front of him and a bowl of ice cream in hand.

“Stiles, if you spill that ice cream in here, I swear to god—”

“You know, I bet you’d be less cranky if you came over here and let me kiss you hello.”

Before Jackson could snap at him—or just crawl right back out, because he was seriously considering it—Stiles pressed play on the laptop.

Jackson frowned at it. “Is that Hoosiers?”

“So?” Stiles asked around a mouthful of ice cream. “You like Hoosiers.”

“ _You_ don’t. And that’s—” Jackson crawled in closer to peer into Stiles’ bowl, and to see the carton behind him stuck in a convenient bucket of ice. “That’s _my_ favorite ice cream flavor.”

“Which is a perfectly good flavor that I have no complaint about eating.”

“Stiles,” Jackson cut across him, suddenly tired. Not in the take-a-nap way, but something deeper. “What is this?”

Catching on to his tone, Stiles let his spoon clink back into his bowl, set the bowl aside, and reached out to pause the movie. But still, he asked, “Why do you think it has to be anything, huh? Can’t I just want to do something fun and nice for my boyfriend sometimes?”

“This is a lot for a random Tuesday,” Jackson pointed out, tugging at the nearest blanket wall. “Even for you.”

Stiles pulled his hand away like he was going to bring the whole precarious structure down, but then he didn’t let go of it. He just wrapped it up in his own and held on.

“I just…I know what today is,” he said, going for light and unconcerned, like it was no big deal. “And I know it’s been a rough day for you these last few years, and you didn’t want anything big. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do _anything._ And I figured, maybe just…” He gestured around with his free hand. “You know. Something fun. For just us.”

Jackson sighed. “It’s just a birthday, Stiles.”

“It’s more than that,” Stiles said gently. “Or you wouldn’t hate it so much.”

With a huff, Jackson pulled his hand back. “ _Whatever._ It’s nothing.”

Stiles let him go, his own hand falling limp into his lap. “Jackson.” He stopped, hesitating for a long second before pushing on. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that,” Jackson snapped. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think knowing it in your head doesn’t make it _feel_ any more true.”

Suddenly, Jackson was glad to be in this stupid blanket fort, if only because it was too dim for Stiles’ weak human eyes to see much of anything. What little light made it through was rosy and soft and forgiving enough to hide that Jackson’s own eyes were stinging and wet. Even so, he turned his head away, snatching up the nearest loose blanket to yank it around his shoulders even though it was too warm for that to be comfortable.

Stiles’ hand on his neck was even more so, but he couldn’t bring himself to shake it off. He stayed where he was as Stiles shuffled closer, shoving pillows out of his way until he could lean up against Jackson’s side and slide an arm around him fully.

“Look, I know there’s no arguing with misplaced guilt like that,” he said. “Trust me, I know. I didn’t kill my mom either, but that doesn’t mean I don’t _feel_ like I did sometimes, and I’ve been fighting that feeling since I was eleven years old. It doesn’t go down easy.”

Jackson gave a wet laugh, weak and dismal. “Great. That’s very encouraging.”

“ _But,_ ” Stiles went on emphatically. “That doesn’t mean we just let that feeling win. It’s dumb and irrational and it doesn’t deserve to have this much power over us. To make you hate your own birthday. I, for one, want to be able to celebrate the day you were born. You know why?”

When Stiles nudged him in the side, several times, very insistently, Jackson caved and said, “Why?”

“Because it gave me _you,_ ” Stiles told him. “And no matter the circumstances, _that_ is something that I will always be grateful for.”

God, it was so fucking cliché. And yet Jackson’s carefully held back tears overflowed one after the other because he was apparently as much of a sappy idiot as his boyfriend and declarations of love actually worked on him. It didn’t do all that much for the hollow ache in his chest, the one that insisted his birth parents were only on the road at night because of him and why should he have gotten to live when they didn’t. But the ache seemed softer here, at least, in the rosy shadows with Stiles close beside him.

Jackson ducked his head, sacrificing his shirtsleeve to wipe his face—it was going to the cleaners soon anyway. He dug up as much of a smile as he could muster as he turned back to Stiles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Definitely worth watching bad movies and eating mediocre ice cream over.”

Jackson let out an indignant noise. “It’s a _great_ movie, thank you very much, and you _just_ said you had no complaints about the ice cream.”

“Hey, do you hear me complaining? No! You’re welcome.”

“Yeah, it’s a real birthday miracle.”

Stiles laughed, head thrown back. He almost toppled over backwards, right into the flimsy blanket wall. Jackson grabbed hold of him, yanking him back, and Stiles ended up half in Jackson’s lap.

“Oh, hey, this reminds me,” he said, still chuckling. “I never got that kiss hello.”

“I’m the birthday boy,” Jackson pointed out. “Doesn’t that mean _you_ should be kissing _me?_ ”

Stiles hummed, rearranging his wayward limbs until he was more comfortably seated, arms coming up to wrap around Jackson’s neck. “You make a compelling argument,” he said. “If I kiss you real good, will it make up for me not having a real present for you?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson mused. “I think this is a pretty good present.”

Stiles’ beaming smile, bright and pleased, was a gift of its own, and so was the soft press of lips that followed it. As much as Jackson had been dreading this day in the weeks coming up to it, maybe here, like this, trading sweet kisses with Stiles in an elaborate blanket fort of all things, his birthday might actually turn out pretty great.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable on tumblr!](https://clotpolesonly.tumblr.com/post/185084873656/here-in-the-rose-tinted-warm)


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